


Sionis

by procellous



Series: Sionis 'verse [1]
Category: Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Janet is Black Mask's sister, haha Tim's an evil little shit, more character and pairing tags as later chapters are written, tim no that is not how you friend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-06 15:48:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procellous/pseuds/procellous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephanie Brown has been captured by the Black Mask and his gang after accidentally starting a gang war.</p><p>Her torturer? A teenaged boy named Timothy, the Black Mask's nephew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sionis

Timothy Sionis, as a rule, does not like surprises. It's a trait he shares with his mother, Janet Sionis, and uncle, Roman Sionis.

It is lucky for Gotham that he runs into very few surprises.

Batman's rarely a surprise. Despite his attempts to be mysterious and unknowable, Timothy had a fairly cohesive picture of his patrol schedule before his tenth birthday.

It helped that he stalked Batman for years without the man ever noticing.

It was a safe assumption that any and all conversations, transactions, or transfers were being watched by the Bat.

It was a safe assumption - not a paranoid one, despite what the men under him thought - that any run, any sale, could be, at any time, attacked by the Bat. That Batman was bulletproof, immortal, and omnipotent.

He wasn't, of course, but the men working under him got overconfident anyway. Finding out the big bad bat was a mortal man? They would get even stupider than usual.

Suvival of the fittest was one thing. Failure was quite another.

It was a safe assumption that anyone whose identity had not been verified, cross checked, triple checked and then had DNA samples run, twice, was either Batman or someone working for him.

Some called it paranoia.

Timothy called it preparedness.

After the second Robin died, Batman worked alone for a while. He became even more ruthless, even more vicious.

Timothy upped the security on everything. No-one was to be trusted.

And then there was a third Robin. A girl this time, blonde.

It's a shame, Timothy thought absently, that she works for Batman, she's pretty. But there are other blondes in Gotham. There's nothing really special about this one…


	2. Timothy

"Mr. Timothy, sir?" the man asked. Timothy should learn his name, if he ranked high enough to use his first name then it was only common courtesy to do the same.

"Yes?"

"Ms. Janet would like to speak to you."

"I see. Now shoo," he said, waving towards the door.

Timothy Sionis slumped into the chair. Mother wanted to speak to him. It was almost certain that Mother and Uncle were in cahoots. Probably an attempt to put him into school. _Again._ No, Mother, he did not want to attend school, _especially_ Gotham Academy.

A school funded by Bruce Wayne? No, thank you. He would rather go to public school.

Not that it mattered, really. The purpose of school was to prepare its students for their jobs. Since his job was going to be - already was, practically - running the

Gotham underworld with an iron fist, school was unnecessary at best and a hindrance at worst.

But if Mother wanted to speak to him, he would have to go. Mother was not someone easily refused.

At least, not by anyone with a brain and a self-preservation instinct.

* * *

The office of Janet Sionis was not a place anyone wanted to be in. The room was painted hospital white, the floors hardwood and in a tall chair behind a mahogany desk sat the woman herself, her make-up, as always, perfect, her black hair coiled into a bun so tightly it almost looked painful, and her long, elegant, and perfectly manicured nails black.

"You wanted to speak to me, Mother?"

"Sit down, Timothy." He lowered himself into the only other chair that was only rarely there, and met his mother's eyes. "Roman and I have been talking, and we agree that you should be better prepared for your future. You are aware, are you not, of the gang war occurring in Gotham?"

"I have…heard of it." He smiled, and his mother mirrored the action. It was not a nice smile. Here, it only meant: I haven't just heard of it. I have heard it.

"We have found the idiot who caused it. A girl who calls herself Robin. I am sure you have deduced her true identity."

"I have."

"Good. She is on the fifth floor, in the second room to the right. Find out everything she knows. We expect daily reports."

"Of course, Mother."

"Go. And Timothy?"

"Yes?"

"Do not fail me."

"I won't."


	3. Robin

Steph sat on the cold floor of the windowless room, tied up, gagged, and cold.

There were two guards in the room, standing by the door with guns pointed straight at her head. If she moved, she would die. And she wasn't Batman or Nightwing, she wasn't fast enough to dodge the bullet.

The Kevlar protected her chest and body. Not her head. And even then, at this range? The bullet would break her rib. Probably puncture her lung, and then it was a certain death.

And they knew that too. Why weren't they shooting?

She wasn't a master detective like B, but she could put two and two together. The Black Mask wanted her alive.

And it didn't take a master detective to have a good idea of why a gang lord would want a teenaged girl alive.

Outside the door, someone was talking.

"Mr. Sionis, we have strict orders to–"

"I am here at the behest of my mother. If you have a problem with that, I advise you to take it up with her."

"No sir, no problems with that. None whatsoever."

"Good."

The door opened, spilling bright light into the dark room and blinding her.

She could make out the silhouette of a man – no, he was a teenager, about her age. Once her eyes had adjusted, she could see black hair and blue eyes.

"Let me go!" she tried to scream, but the gag muffled her words and she knew he wouldn't care anyway.

"Hello," he said, his head tilted slightly to one side. "You must be Robin, girl wonder and legendary terror of the night. It's a pleasure. I am Timothy Sionis, nephew of the Black Mask." He smiled. It didn't reach his eyes, which hadn't blinked once since he walked in.

Brr. Creepy.

He knelt and reached for her face. She must have flinched, because he whispered, "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you."

She closed her eyes, and felt the gag fall from her face and then it was gently pulled out of her mouth.

His hands were soft and careful, as if he was afraid he would hurt her.

He stood up quickly, turning to face the guards in the doorway. "Stand outside the door. No-one comes in. And you are not to enter under any circumstances. Understood?"

"Yes, Mr. Sionis. Sir."

"Good." He turned back around and faced her. "Now, Robin. Why don't we get started. What can you tell me about the Batman?"

* * *

"Timothy."

"Mother."

"How did it go?"

"She is uncooperative. But it is only the first day. I imagine she'll be very cooperative soon."

"How much time do you estimate it will take?"

"At least two more days."

"And if you were to torture her?"

"Who says I'm not? But I understand what you meant. Physically harming her may get us information quicker, but I would be surprised if the Bat had not taught her to resist torture. Psychological torture is harder to resist and it is more _fun._ She will break and it will be _delicious._ Imagine, mother dear, a robin playing for our side. Imagine Batman's face when he learns what we have done. How easily his Robin broke. Picture his reaction when he realizes that she's doing our biding of her own free will. Oh, it will be beautiful. I'll even take a photo for you to laugh at."


	4. Stephanie

“Good morning, Stephanie. How are you?” Timothy asked, walking into her cell.

 

“Been better.” 

“This isn’t very…welcoming, is it? I can see about moving you to a more comfortable room, if you like.”

“Thank you,” she said reluctantly.

He smiled, and she could tell he was trying to make it look sincere, but she wasn’t so easily fooled. He was trying to gain her sympathy. Well, it wouldn’t work!

“It would help a great deal if you would tell me about your fellow vigilantes. Batman, Nightwing, Batgirl, and you, of course. Please, Stephanie,” he said, “I can’t help you if you don’t help me.”

“I won’t tell you anything about them.”

“I don’t need to know all that much, Stephanie, I already know their identities. But if you want to have a nicer room, better food? I need to be able to show my uncle that you can be useful to him.”

“And if I’m not useful?”

He sighed, clearly reluctant to tell her, and sat next to her on the cot. “You’ll die.”

“Does that happen to anyone who isn’t useful to him?”

“Without exception, yes. Some people are lucky enough to simply get kicked out on the streets. Most people? They get shot. Bullet in the brain.”

She wasn’t Batman, the world’s greatest detective, but she got the implication loud and clear. “Does that mean…if you aren’t useful to him, you’d…”

“Yeah. No exceptions. Both my mother and I are pretty useful to him, though.”

“What about your dad?” she asked, and his entire body tensed. Touchy subject, clearly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.”

The tension drained out as suddenly as it came. “Don’t worry about it. I never met him.”

It was surreal. Her captor was sitting there next to her, calm and relaxed, as if they were two friends sitting on a bench in a park instead of a captor and captive sitting on the cot in a corner of her cell talking about a dead man. A dead man who the boy in front of her could become. And to be under that much pressure…he was just a kid. No older than she was.

“Stephanie, I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but…Uncle’s not very patient and he thinks he’ll get results faster if they just torture you. And they’re pretty good at it, too. I’m trying to keep you safe, but I need you to tell me something so that I can keep him from hurting you.”

“What do you want to know?”

* * *

  
“Mister Sionis?” the knock came suddenly, jolting both of them from their conversation.

“What is it?” Timothy called.

“Miss Sionis wants to speak to you.”

“I see.” He glanced at her and looked – torn.

“Go,” Steph said, placing a hand on his arm. “I’ll still be here when you get back.”

“Thank you.” He stood up and walked to the door, “Really. Thank you.”

She tried to ignore the flutter in her stomach at his words. She was hungry. That was all it was.

* * *

  
“Well?”

“She is becoming cooperative. I told you I would need some time. Oh, and tell Uncle he is not to do anything stupid, she’ll be singing like a bird by tomorrow.” He had turned and was halfway to the door when his mother spoke.

“Timothy.”

“Yes?”

“You do have a plan, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. And now that you mention it, it may very well be time for a part of that plan. It will, of course, involve Uncle.”

“You will have to talk to him about that, then.”

A moment passed.

“Mother? What happened to my dad?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

“Don’t lie to me, Timothy. But whatever your motivation, he’s dead.”

“Then don’t lie to me. He’s alive, isn’t he?”

She tensed subtly, and if Timothy didn’t know his mother’s tells, he wouldn’t have noticed.

“Isn’t he?” he pressed. She spun around, left hand coming up and backhanding him. The diamond ring she wore cut into his cheek, drawing blood.

“He is dead, Timothy. You don’t need to know anymore than that.”

“I understand, Mother.”

Then he turned on his heel and walked towards his Uncle’s office.

* * *

 

“What happened to your face?” Steph asked as soon as Timothy returned. He was bleeding from a cut across his cheek, the area around it red, like it had been slapped.

“Oh. That.” he said, like he hadn’t realized he had been hurt.

“Come here,” she ordered, lightly prodding his cheek. He hissed, and she drew back. “What did your mom want? I’m assuming it was your mom, anyway.”

“Yeah, it was. She wanted to tell me that Uncle was losing his patience. And unless we could get some more information, there would be three people getting tortured.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I mean, if it was just me getting tortured, it would be one thing, but if it’s you and your mom…” she sniffed. Batman wouldn’t cry. But Batman wouldn’t be here in the first place.

He wrapped his arms around her, and she tucked her face into his chest, shoulders shaking as she tried to not cry. “Don’t worry. Sh, sh, don’t worry. It’s not your fault,” he whispered, “It’s not your fault at all.”

The door slammed open, and a bunch of mooks came in, led by Black Mask. Timothy pushed her behind him, but some of them grabbed him, shoving him up against one wall. The rest grabbed her and pushed her against the opposite wall.

What she could see of Timothy’s face was terrified. She struggled in the mook’s grip, kicking one in the crotch and causing him to go down, lunging out for Timothy, who screams, “Stephanie, look out!”

There’s a sharp pain in the back of her head, and then everything went dark.


	5. Brown

Steph woke up against a wall in a pitch black room with a pounding in the back of her head.

“Hello?” she called tentatively.

Nobody answered.

  


* * *

  
A few hours later, Steph was roused from a restless sleep by the sound of metal scraping against metal, bright light spilling into the cell, and several pained noises.

Timothy was thrown into the cell, suit torn and covered in blood, and he landed on the hard floor with a groan of pain.

Then the door was slammed shut, leaving the two alone in the dark.

“Timothy? Tim, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he groaned, “I’ll be fine. You?”

“I’m fine. They haven’t gotten to me yet. Wait, if you’re here, and I’m here, does that mean–”

“No, it’s around midnight. They’ve all gone to sleep. Don’t–” he gasped. She could faintly see him sitting up and it looked painful. “Don’t worry. They aren’t hurting anyone right now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For getting you hurt, I should have just told you everything, I’m so sorry, I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“Stephanie…” he reached out and tilted her face up. His hand was a little sticky from the drying blood and she could feel his breath ghosting on her cheek. “It wasn’t your fault. None of this is your fault.”

“I’m so stupid, I shouldn’t have tried to–” her words were cut short with a press of lips to hers.

“Stephanie. Stop that. You aren’t stupid and this isn’t your fault. If it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine, I–” This time she kissed him, deeper than he had kissed her and getting blood in her mouth.

“If it wasn’t my fault, then it wasn’t yours, either.”

“Deal.”

  


* * *

  
They fell asleep curled up on each other, both of them leaning against the wall. Steph’s head had fallen onto Timothy’s shoulder, her cheek and lips covered in his blood.

The door opened and both of them shot awake as light splashed onto their faces. A girl stood in the doorway, grinning and surrounded by four men. Two of them grabbed Timothy while the other two grabbed Steph. Timothy was limp in the men’s grip, head hanging, but Steph struggled.

“Look at the little lovebirds! I wonder which one of you will break first? The boyfriend, getting carved up, or the girlfriend, forced to watch? Oh, this will be so much fun!”

“Who are you, anyway?” Steph asked.

“Nessa Lowe, nice to meet you, stop struggling or they’ll drop him.”

* * *

  
They were brought into a room that held two tables with straps and several racks of torture instruments. A single bare bulb lit the room.

Tim was strapped to one table and Steph to the other, the mooks carrying them closing and locking the door behind them.

It was an ominous sound.

“Now, you’re new to this, Robin, so I’ll explain it slowly,” Nessa said, picking up a knife and playing with it. “I ask a question. You have five seconds to start answering, or Timothy here–” she grabbed a lock of his hair and yanked, exposing his throat with a strangled cry, “–loses some blood. If you cooperate, I don’t hurt him, If you don’t, I do. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“So, let’s start out simple. What is your real name?”

“Stephanie – Stephanie Brown.”

“Good. What’s Nightwing’s real name?”

“Dick Grayson.”

“I think you’re getting the hang of this. Batman?”

“Bruce Wayne.”

“And Batgirl?”

“Cass Cain.”

“Good to know you’re so cooperative. Oh, don’t give me that look, I know everything. This is just for fun. Well, my fun, anyway. That must hurt though, doesn’t it? You just gave up everyone’s identities because I threatened to hurt someone. But I shouldn’t have been too surprised. It’s obvious you aren’t as good as the others. They wouldn’t have gotten captured. They would figure out a daring escape. You’re not as good as them. And that hurts, doesn’t it?  They trust you with their identities and you betray them – why? For the sake of one boy? You should have been able to save him. If you were really Robin, you would’ve saved him before he got tortured. Do you even realize that all of this is your fault? It’s your fault he got tortured, your fault this gang war begun, this gang war that we’re winning, by the way. You know, I should thank you for that. If you weren’t such a pathetic excuse for Robin, we wouldn’t be as big as we are now, wouldn’t be as powerful. You might as well just join us now. You might actually save more lives with us than with the big, bad Batman.

“I just have one more question for you, Stephanie. One last question.”

“Don’t answer her,” Timothy shouted, “Stephanie, please, it doesn’t matter what she asks, don’t answer her, it’s not worth it.”

“You haven’t even heard the question and you’re telling her not to answer? How rude. I should cut that tongue of yours out, we’ll see how rude you can be then.

“Now, Stephanie, tell me, how much do you love him? I mean, obviously there’s something there, why else would you casually betray your teammates? But how much do you love him? Oh, fair warning, I’ll kill him if you don’t love him enough.”

“I – I don’t – I can’t – You can’t quantify love, it doesn’t work like that!”

“Then how does it work?”

“I don’t know! All I know is that I didn’t love him a few days ago, and I might not love him a few days from now. But I love him now, and that’s all that matters.”

“Oh, you really love him, don’t you. How sweet. I think I’ll let you live. For now, anyway.”


	6. Black

“I’ll let you live – for now,” Nessa repeated. “But I don’t think you would love him so much if you knew the truth about him. Oh, don’t give me that look. It’s obvious you aren’t as good as Batman. Batman would never have trusted him. Not when he’s fed you lie after lie. But you believed him, didn’t you? You believed that he was being tortured. You believed that he was hurt? Take another look at him. All that blood? Fake. All those wonderful little noises he makes as he moves? Fake. He was never in pain. He was just pretending, Just trying to trick you into falling in love with him.

“Go ahead and untie yourself, Timmy.”

“Don’t call me Timmy,” he said, fumbling at the latches of the straps.

“Here, let me give you a hand with those.” Nessa said, flipping them open.

Timothy sat up. In the light, Steph could see that his suit was torn and bloody but beneath it he was fine.

“Anyhow, now that we’re all on the same page, you get a nice prison cell all to your own and Timmy can go get the fake blood washed off and I get to have fun with some of our other prisoners.” She laughed, and it wasn’t a crazy laugh like Steph expected. It was – free. Genuine. Like a little kid’s, bright and innocent. Not like the Joker’s, whose laugh had an edge, whose laugh was a testament to his insanity. Hers was cheerful, honest, whole.

It was terrifying.

The mooks that had brought her into the torture room grabbed her again and threw her into a cell.

And it was a cell, with bars over a small window and guards outside the door and everything.

Once they had gone, she broke down in tears. It was all a lie, all of it. Timothy had played her like an instrument, had gotten under her skin and she had let him. She had let him in. So much for the girl wonder. Outside her window, the sun was setting, and she cried herself to sleep.

\--

A few hours later, there were footsteps outside. Not the guards, though, the rhythm was different.

A rattle of a key in a lock and the door opened. Timothy was standing in the doorway, hands behind his back.

“Come to gloat?” she spat.

“No. To apologize.”

“For what?” He walked over to her as she spoke, “Your plan worked perfectly. Shouldn’t you be happy?”

“Not for that. Because there is no apology I can give for that. But for this.” One hand moved from behind his back, and the only warning she had was a glint of light before a knife found its way into her gut.

“Was it all a lie?” she gasped, doubled over in pain.

“No,” he whispered, and he gently lowered her to the ground, “Not all of it.”

Her eyes closed, and it might just be the blood loss but she thinks she hears him say –

_“I love you, Stephanie.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up on Monday, January 6th.


End file.
